


Someone Else

by Eightpoundsofhair



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, F/F, I do not stray from this tend :), Unrequited Crush, rated teen because Boscha curses one (1) time, the Boscha/Amity tag said UNREQUITED FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 04:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eightpoundsofhair/pseuds/Eightpoundsofhair
Summary: Boscha had known for years, by then, how it would go. No matter what it was Amity would be caught off guard by it. Drop her textbook or trip over her feet or choke on her drink as she noticed, watching from across the hallway or the classroom or the park. Maybe, instead, she would gasp in the middle of lecture, distracted by a daydream which had suddenly revealed to her what she had not noticed before. Or maybe she would simply trip over her words while speaking, locking eyes only for her mind to fill with what was suddenly so obviously.And while it had; it was wrong. It wasn’t about her.
Relationships: Amity Blight/Boscha, Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Someone Else

**Author's Note:**

> okay if y’all are just gonna ship Boscha and willow I’m allowed to write some angst from boscha’s perspective

Boscha didn’t understand what had happened. 

She had always just assumed Amity was a bit dense. Which admittedly wasn’t a wrong assumption for her to make; Amity  _ was  _ dense. Her nose was always buried in a book, her mind always preoccupied with grades and assignments. She was, to put it simply, too obsessed with academia to notice what really was. 

Or else maybe she was just slow. Even when she wasn’t busy with school, back before with Grudgby, when they had sleepovers or sat together at lunch, she didn’t babble about the boys like Skara always had. She didn’t float from crush to crush and speak in endless circles about her latest one, be it a boy she had been flirting with for years or some girl she had just met last period. She didn’t talk about it, crushes, interests, at all, in face. Kept quiet when it came up, shoving it off when prodded. But then again, Amity wasn’t much at all like Skara. She was hardly one to compare her to. 

Irregardless, be it Amity’s being dense or slow or something else altogether it was clear that she didn’t know. Not like Boscha always had. 

Boscha had known for years, by then, how it would go. 

No matter what it was Amity would be caught off guard by it. Drop her textbook or trip over her feet or choke on her drink as she noticed, watching from across the hallway or the classroom or the park. Maybe, instead, she would gasp in the middle of lecture, distracted by a daydream which had suddenly revealed to her what she had not noticed before. Or maybe she would simply trip over her words while speaking, locking eyes only for her mind to fill with what was suddenly so obviously.

Whatever it would be, no matter the finer details, it was all the same. From then on, once she had done the hard part, realized, she would be a disaster. 

All at once she would be stuttering and stammering and walking around with nothing but pink cheeks and nervous smiles. She would be as obvious as Skara, but not really. She would be  _ worse _ . Because while Skara was smooth and collected and naturally flirty Amity was not. Where Skata navigated conversation easily Amity would fumble and fall and make a mess of herself all at once. Trip over her sentences and speak every thought in her brain all while turning a vibrant shade of pink. 

There would be no denying it; not for herself and certainly not for anyone else. Perfect little Amity Blight would be head over heels, hopelessly and completely. 

And Boscha  _ had  _ been right. That was exactly how it had happened. 

Which was exactly why it hurt.

Because she was right, she had always known exactly how it would go, and it was, but it was  _ wrong _ . 

She noticed it right away, that first day. She had met Amity after one of her abomination lectures when it happened, waiting for her outside the door so they could walk down to their lockers together like they did every day. Amity was usually high strung after that particular class, short tempered and scribbling in her planner and incessantly blabbering about her assignments, her grades. But not that day. 

She had come out bright pink, sweating, shaking. An entire mess. She nearly shouted when she saw Boscha, jumping with a jerk as they locked eyes. Boscha found herself smiling widely before she could stop herself. 

It was happening. 

And for a few moments, a few minutes, it went how she had thought it would; Amity was tripping over her words as they walked through the hall together, turning bright red and stuttering and shaking and being so obvious it was embarrassing. 

It was so exciting, finally,  _ finally  _ it was happening! Finally Amity was coming to her senses. Finally she had noticed. 

But it didn’t take long for Boscha to realize it wasn’t right.

When Boscha had left a hand on her shoulder at lunch she didn’t get the response she had been expecting now that this had finally started. Amity didn’t go pink and she didn’t stutter. No, she  _ shook her off _ and groaned about Boscha letting her work.

Boscha’s heart had nearly stopped. Her stomach sank to her toes. Her blood ran cold. 

It wasn’t about her. It was about that stupid fucking human. 

She had realized  _ that  _ only a few moments after, she had yet to move, her heart still pounding in her ears, her stomach still sat in her toes, when she, the human and her loser brigade, came squandering into the lunch room, holding hands and laughing as they poisoned the lunch room. 

Amity stopped what she was doing at the sound at once to look up and when the human waved at her her body stiffened and she was washed over in a pretty little shade of pink. 

Boscha left school early that day, left right then and there from the lunchroom to go stomping her way home. When she had arrived she tried to stay angry so she wouldn’t get upset. Tried to let the rage she felt at the situation sit hot in her head and overwrite the bitter sting which was quickly taking hold in her chest. 

It didn’t work. 

**

It got worse. 

Boscha had tried to move past it, it was a fluke, surely, a mistake, poor timing, anything but what she had assumed it was. But it didn’t take long for her to be proven wrong over and over again. 

As the days passed Amity was getting all the worse, just like Boscha had always known she would, but instead of her interest being pointed at Boscha, like Boscha had always assumed, it was turned time and time again to the human. 

Amity was talking to herself in the hallways, running late to walk her, the human, to class on the other side of Hexside, skipping classes to visit her in hers, and all in all pushing harder and harder away from Boscha. 

She tried, desperately, to remain level headed, or at the very least angry, about the situation but Boscha kept finding herself with a gauging, festering pit in her stomach, swelling and squeezing all at the same time. She simply  _ couldn’t  _ stay angry, each time the burning heat of anger swelled in her chest it was as good as gone. Because Amity would walk past her without so much as a glance her way, chasing after the human’s tail with a dopey little smile. Watching it always made the anger, the want to confront her or the human or anyone, rush away. Instead her face would fall and her chest would squeeze around a looming hollowness. 

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Somehow it just kept getting worse and worse and worse. 

Because it went from Amity simply staring at her to her actively hanging out with her to her hanging out with her over Boscha to even  _ Grom _ . And soon Amity wasn’t even just ignoring Boscha; she was condemning her. Sliding snide comments to her in the hallways, discouraging her behavior, speaking against her in class. 

Boscha tried to play it off like she was angry, because she was, she insisted it to herself and acted it and was trying so hard to hold the feeling of it, but each day she found herself coming home from school less and less angry. More and more upset. Sad. A feeling she was admittedly very ill adapted to dealing with. 

Although, she supposed that then, that day, had been the worst. 

The Grudgby match. Again, for what felt like the millionth time, Amity had picked  _ her  _ over Boscha. Had chosen  _ her  _ and defended  _ her  _ friends and all of  _ their  _ flaws and oddities over  _ Boscha _ . All while being left a million shares of pink, all while giving a million stuttering words of praise, all while delivering a million endearing little fumbling words. 

She had never done any of that for Boscha. Even when they had played together on the same team. She had never so much as said ‘good job’. She would simply nod and walk off the field. It had felt cool then, nice and sweet and succinct and pleasant, their thing, but now it just felt hollow. Amity had never cared about her. This was proof of it. Because she  _ could  _ care, can and could give sweet little words of encouragement, charming little expressions of adoration, and she had just never bothered to give them to Boscha.

It had been a bit of a tipping point. 

Boscha had come home after it all feeling rather empty. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t anything. She was just walking. 

When she got home she dropped her bag onto the floor of her room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring aimlessly at her feet. 

All at once it hurt again. 

She had never expected it to go like this. She had always been so confident that it would be her, that Amity’s sudden realization, flushing cheeks and stuttering words and general inability to function, would be pointed in Boscha’s direction. And to be honest, Boscha had never given it that much thought. 

She had always just assumed that she knew it would be so because it would; Boscha was egotistical and arrogant at the best of times, she was not afraid to admit it, and so she had simply assumed after long enough Amity would come to realize how good she was too. She would realize how Boscha had always been there, standing prettily to her side, to help her with Grudgby and tell her the gossip and help her fix her hair in the bathroom. She would realize how pretty Boscha was, how talented, and she would suddenly be unable to contain her feelings. It would be simple; Amity would like her because everyone did. 

But Boscha was realizing now that that was never what this had been. She  _ did  _ think very highly of herself, she still couldn’t believe that Amity had seemingly not realized all these things, was suddenly speaking very poorly about Boscha, but even when Boscha had believed that it would be true it had never been about herself. After all, any of those things could have applied to anyone. She had assumed Amity would like Boscha because everyone did; but Boscha didn’t care about everyone else liking her. She didn’t care about anyone else liking her. 

Because this wasn’t about Boscha. It was about  _ Amity _ . 

Boscha had assumed, had been waiting for it, for a reason that was so obvious in retrospect that she wanted to laugh. Instead she just found herself sighing heavily as she tried to blink away tears. She liked Amity. And maybe she wasn’t a stuttering, blushing, gushing mess but, now, in retrospect, it was just as obvious.

God, it burned bad to realize then. Only now when Amity was gone already, glitzing away with the human who she was so clearly into. How had she not noticed it earlier?

She had always thought Amity was pretty, more so than Skata or Cat or any of the other girls at school. She had always found herself complimenting her more than she ever would anyone else. She had always found herself staring, at sleepovers or in class or at night alone, checking up on Amity’s Penstagram. 

She had always found her so admirable. Good at both Grudgby and school, so dedicated to her classes yet so talented outside of them as well. She had always found herself trying to impress her, a hard feat to accomplish, because she found her so impressing. 

She had always found her incredible. A friend she was a bit too preoccupied with. A friend she thought about a bit too constantly. A friend she had had a detailed set of expectations for for when she realized her feelings for her. 

God it sucked. Everything about it hurt, realizing only now when maybe if she had earlier she could have done something about it, gotten Amity to like her back without simply expecting it to happen. It hurt to know that she liked someone else, someone stupid and loud and from another dimension of all things. It hurt to know that her, that multi-track, human, obnoxious, arrogant girl was getting the attention Boscha so desperately wanted. 

But it hurt the most because she had been right about it all in the end. Because she knew Amity. 

She was a charming little mess, so unfamiliar to a happy emotion, so new to the concept of a crush, that she could hardly function. Adorable and sweet and incredibly, wildly cute. It went exactly how she had always known it would be but with one laughing twist of fate. 

It wasn’t fair!

Boscha knew her so well, well enough to predict this, how she’d act, exactly. She knew all her likes and dislikes and her favorite classes and her least favorite chores and where she liked to hide snacks from her siblings. She knew about what classes she struggled to get A’s in and how she studied for exams and when she went to bed each evening. She knew about how she insisted on brushing her teeth  _ before  _ she showered each morning, wanting to feel clean as quick as she could, and how she sung cheesy pop songs when she dyed her hair, trying to cheer herself up and steer away the monotony of such a frequent task, and how she picked at her fingernails when she was nervous, something she herself was only conscious of in the sense of the aftereffects. She knew her tastes in books and her favorite places to sit outside. She knew her quirks and gimmicks and mannerisms. She knew  _ her _ . Knew her better than anyone.

So why not her? What did the human have that she didn’t?

Boscha took another deep breath, trying desperately to keep the waterworks back. She was tough, she was strong. She didn’t cry. Not over her friends, not over pretty girls and an unrealized crush. 

In the end it didn’t work well. She was too upset. Too terribly sad at how right yet how terrible wrong she had been. 

Because while she had always known how it would go the way it had she had never even considered that Amity might look that way at someone else.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a big angst with a happy ending type of gal but Boscha does not deserve my kindness lol. Don’t get me wrong- I LOVE her as a character but good god she sucks. Hopefully she gets more depth soon, for now I shall love her much in the way I love azula. Terrified but like that’s kinda swag, you know?  
> But I hope you liked this! This one kinda came out of nowhere and went super fast until it was done. I honestly had no plans of posting it but it just kinda? Finished itself? and I figured I might as well  
> In any case, PLEASE PLEASE leave me a comment! And have a great day!


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